A Gift and a Curse
by Elfpen
Summary: Leo Valdez has it made. Pyrokinesis, the Great Prophecy, the Argo II... All in all, he's an awesome demigod with the potential to be a great hero. Or at least, that's what everyone else thinks. But deep inside, he's never felt so lost and helpless.
1. Leo

A/N: Hello, there. This is my very first PJatO/HoO fanfiction, but I thought I'd give it a go, as it's they are some of my very favorite books. This one will be mostly angst fluff. Here's to hoping that my first attempt at PJO fanfiction goes well! Review if you like what you read, and even if you don't!

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**1. **

**Leo**

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Once the rest of my sisters and brothers (it is still pretty weird that I have so many siblings) got settled into Bunker 9 and had their fill of ogling and drooling over the sheer amount of cool toys and dangerous materials that filled the warehouses, playtime was over. We set to work on the _Argo II _almost immediately. Lots of the campers teased us about becoming hermits out in our bunker, and Jake had to booby-trap our cabin so the Hermes kids wouldn't steal anything in our absence. But overall, everyone was helpful as we worked on the ship. Even the Aphrodite kids pitched in when it came to hauling in lumber for the keel.

Only a few people besides the Hephaestus cabin were regularly up at the bunker, besides Chiron, who checked in regularly to keep note on our progress, and occasionally Jason and Piper, though I'd seen less and less of them these days. But despite the lack in non-sibling company, I didn't mind. I love having someone there to talk to, but when I'm with my machines, _they _are my company. Those gears and toggles and gadgets and gizmos are my buddies; my pals. And, on occasion, my enemies. But for the most part, they're just great listeners who always understand you and will always work with you. As we framed out the _Argo II_'s skeleton and inner workings, we'd hung Festus' head above the door of the bunker for good luck. (You do _not _want to know how long it took us to get it up there) Many times, I caught myself talking to him while I worked, telling him about the design of the ship and whatever project I had going at the moment. At first, I thought someone might hear me talking to a deactivated metal dragon's head and think I was a schizo or something, but apparently, all of us Hephaestus kids talk to inanimate machinery. It's in the genes, I suppose.

When I wasn't locked away with Festus the masthead in Bunker 9, I was out on the training field. Chiron said I had to brush up my weapons skills. I may have taken down a small army of earthen ones with my mad fire skills, but apparently, a knack with mechanics and pyrokinetic powers alone weren't going to get me an A+ on the Demigod Battle Training exam. So, here I was, being cut up, beat up, trampled on, cursed at, kicked, hit, insulted, elbowed and all-around pwned by my fellow campers. The worst part? I was being beaten by _a girl._

Chiron, the very caring camp overseer that he is and knowing how important my training was to the Great Prophecy, assigned me a personal trainer – one of Ares' daughtes; a girl named Clarisse La Rue. Now, I didn't know a thing about this chick when I first heard about her, but as soon as the name came out of Chiron's lips, Annabeth had sent me this look like, _good luck, goner, _and walked off. I learned very quickly that when _Annabeth_ shows you pity, it can only mean one thing:

You're dead.

This wasn't too far from the truth. My very first lesson, Clarisse greeted me with a whack to my shoulder with a giant wooden staff and a string of Ancient Greek that I am _not _going to repeat. It was right about then that I remembered that Ares was the god of war. She's made my existence Hades ever since then, and hasn't shown any signs of letting down soon. Once, after a long spar with swords, she decides that I should work on upper body strength and dexterity, so she sends me to the lava climbing wall. She's going to time me to see how long it'll take me to reach the top, and I'm thinking: Sweet! I'll break the world record, no problemo. I mean, it's not as if lava is an issue with me. Unfortunately, she has never been too impressed with my natural resistance of fire and heat. In fact, I don't know if she realizes that I have it.

"Valdez!" She growls at me from the ground "You're supposed to go _around _the lava, not through it!"

I turn and peer back down at her through a haze of molten orange. "Just playing to my strengths, Clarisse!" And plow on ahead.

She yells back, "We're not here to pay to strengths, Fire Boy, we're here to improve them!" And then she tosses her lightning spear up at me. The shaft sizzles and sparkles as it hits me side-on on my back. I yelp and glare down at her as the spear falls back to earth. I wonder if it would be against camp rules to fry her on the spot. Good gods, who gave this woman _electricity? _"Maybe I should have Chiron replace the lava with acid!" She sneers up at me, "Maybe it would burn some sense into your flame-haired skull!" And then of course, she starts tossing her stupid electrified toothpick back up at me like a madwoman Zeus wannabe.

This was how most lessons between Clarisse and I went. Sometimes, I'd catch a break and train with Jason or Annabeth or maybe Will Solace, but usually, it was Clarisse. Clarisse and her snarky, cynical remarks and arrogant taunts. By the end of the month, she'd come up with a whole encyclopedia of nicknames for me, including: Fire Boy, Flame Butt, Bronze Brain, Smoke Stack, and many more that were a bit less polite. And with every nickname name, there'd be a scar and a cut and a potentially mortal wound to match. After the first week, I wondered if I wouldn't personally consume every last drop of nectar left in Camp Half-Blood.

Everyone else in the camp seemed to think that I was improving. But every time Clarisse yelled at me, every time I laid down in bed at night with my muscles burning out of my body, every time I got to Bunker 9 and felt like I'd been run over by a nuclear war train and then realized that I'd have to get up and endure the same battering tomorrow, I felt less and less like a hero, and more and more like a kid who didn't know what the Hades he was doing.

The training wasn't the only thing, though.

There was the Great Prophecy, of course. Save the entire world from being taken over by ancient giants? Sure! Rescue Olympus from immanent destruction? No problem. Bring together two demigod camps after centuries of strife? Leo Valdez, at your service. Take part in one of the most dangerous quests the world has ever known? Psh, I eat danger for breakfast. At least, that seemed to be what everyone _wanted_ me to say. My real reaction: 'Help me!' But no one seemed to think of that. No one seemed to realize that I was so scared; so inadequate. I wish that that Percy Jackson guy wasn't stuck in California with amnesia. He'd played the part of 'savior of the world' in the last act – maybe he could give me some pointers on how to handle the pressure. But unfortunately, he wasn't here, and I just couldn't bring myself to admit my fears to anyone else – I couldn't let them down. They all just assumed that I was doing just peachy – I was the joker, the happy-go-lucky kid, the master of mechanics, the one who would give them a flying warship in time for the quest, the awesome son of Hephaestus who'd taken out giants and the first fire user in four hundred years, and I hadn't even killed myself yet!

That was another thing. The fire using. All of my siblings thought it was so cool, and the rest of the campers treated me like some sort of superhero with special powers. Whenever one of my cabinmates needed a hotter forging fire, they'd get me. Whenever someone dropped something into the firepit, I'd be the one to retrieve it. Whenever there was a sword or something stuck in the back of the forge, I was the only one who could crawl back there and get it without getting seriously hurt. All it all, it was nice to help people out. But at the same time, it was agonizing.

_Always dangerous._ Like a wrong move sets off the buzzer in Operation, every time I used my fire powers, Nyssa's words to me came back to nag at my mind. I felt as though I was walking on the edge of a cliff. One false move, and I'd be dead. One wrong decision, and I'd ruin everyone's lives. I was playing with fire – quite literally – and if I wasn't careful, I would end up playing a repeat of my mom's death, and more people I cared about would be trapped with her beneath the ashes. The last demigod of my kind had laid ruin to an entire city. And now, I was part of the most important prophecy in the world. The equation was a disaster waiting to happen, and I knew it. But no one else seemed to notice. I was powerful and cool. I had it together; I had a great gig going, building the _Argo II _and going on a cool quest. I had a sweet tool belt and was doing well in training. I was the awesome fire kid who just might save the world, and life was going pretty well for me.

Or at least, that's what everyone else thought. But deep inside, I'd never felt so lost and helpless.

The only one who listened to my rants about Clarisse and my reservations about the prophecy and my powers was Festus. Sure, the guy isn't very talkative these days, but he's an awesome listener. And even the memory of him is enough to make me feel a little bit better when I unload my troubles. I only made comments to him here and there for the longest time, but one night, I was all alone up at the bunker, and I was just about ready to go mad from it all. So, sitting on a third-story desk that sat only a few yards away from where Festus watched over the workshop, I just started talking. And talking. I kept talking well into the wee hours of the morning, about how much I hated Clarisse's electric spear, how much I wished I hadn't been born with prokinesis, how utterly terrified I was to be part of the Great Prophecy. I remember fiddling with some gears and wires as I unloaded my heart onto my bronze friend, and by the time I'd finished the miniature Pegasus automaton, I'd ran out of things to say. I let the bronze figurine fly off, and then leant back in my chair. It squeaked and creaked in protest as its rusty back complied with my movements, and I decided to go get some oil to mend it. As I started down the steps to the main floor, I heard movement downstairs and froze.

Looking over the balcony, I could just make out the silhouette of someone lurking in the shadows. I think I blushed and went completely white at the same time, if such a thing were possible. I saw the figure, presumably another demigod, move quietly away, and I realized that I _wasn't _alone in the bunker that night. I'd just opened up my soul for the entire warehouse to hear, in the assumption that I had been alone. But now, Festus wasn't the only one with my secrets. I dashed back to my desk and hid in the darkness, wishing they would just go away and never speak of whatever they'd heard. After a while of silence, I thought whoever it was had gone, but my hopes were dashed when a voice echoed against the walls,

"Leo?"

And when I recognized the voice, I knew I would have to explain myself. It took a several minutes to muster my voice. "I'm up here." I said flatly, dreading what was about to come. Stupid organic life forms.

I heard steps sounding on the metal stairs, and gulped. Well, I thought, here goes everything.

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So, what do you think? Bad? Good? Indifferent? There will be more chapters soon. Thanks for reading! R&R, please!


	2. Nyssa

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! And it's good to see that some of my buds over from the Ranger's Apprentice archives enjoy Percy Jackson. I suppose it may have been a surprise to some of you to see me on here, as I've never posted anything for PJO before, but I've loved the series for years. Anyway, on with the show!

Oh, and by the way, I only gave this a once-over for typos, so if you spot any wayward punctuation marks or wild letters, let me know!

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**Nyssa**

I don't know if I've ever worked so hard in my entire life. I mean, living at forge half of every year does give you a pretty good feel for hot, sweaty, back-breaking work. But this? Beyond anything I'd ever done before. We rose and started work at dawn, only taking breaks for meals and training, and didn't go back to our cabin until late evening. We would march home every night covered in sawdust, oil, and grease – that is, so long as we didn't end up sleeping at the bunker. My muscles were constantly sore, my sweaty hair clung to my face and neck, the skin beneath my fingernails had been stained dark with oil, and my eyes were bloodshot from constant strain.

It was the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me.

See, most people would groan and despair at the prospect of work like that, but the children of Hephaestus thrive on hard, hands-on work. Okay, so we might complain to the other campers a bit (okay, a lot) but deep down in every Cabin Nine heart there is a motor that ticks to the tune of a hammer on anvil, and a circuit board that is hard-wired for challenging projects – projects like the _Argo II. _

I remember when Leo first brought us all out to Bunker 9. I had nearly had a heart attack. First off, Leo was a fire user. Cool? Totally. Dangerous? Possibly. Completely insignificant compared to the cavernous heaven that had just appeared in the cliff wall? Most definitely.

Bunker 9 is _huge._ There are warehouses everywhere, and we're constantly finding more. There is enough celestial bronze stored in there to make any divine craftsman drool, and the sheer variety of tools, traditional and magical alike, never fail to make me giddy like a schoolgirl. When we gave Annabeth the grand tour of the place, she'd said it reminded her of the Labyrinth – and though I've never seen the interior of the actual Labyrinth, I can see the similarity. The bunker isn't built like a normal building. It's underground, for one thing, and it's huge, for another. But the most striking difference is that you can never quite tell where you'll end up next. Rooms lead to more rooms, which lead to hallways, which lead to workshops, which lead to forges … Mapping out the place was like one giant treasure hunt, with a few surprises at every turn. And while some of those surprises were rather dangerous, (like when Shane stumbled across that pile of nuclear warheads) finding most of them was like unwrapping presents on Christmas morning. I know we were all shocked beyond belief when we stepped foot in the place, and some of us (myself included) hate leaving the bunker every night because it's become like home to us. The place is _heaven. _Seriously, screw Elysium – when I die, I want old Skullface to send me right back up here so I can tinker and forge my way into eternity. I'm pretty sure at leasthalf of my siblings agree with me.

All of this considered, it was no surprise to anyone in Cabin Nine when there were a few members who ended up sleeping in the Bunker each night. Harley had discovered a suite just off the main work deck that was filled with bunk beds, dressers, and a huge bathroom, complete with a Jacuzzi tub and towel warmers. After bit of renovation, restoration, and a good amount of dusting, they were clean and ready for use – a _lot _of use. I'm not sure who built this place, but I can tell you they are a craftsman (or crafts_woman_, of course) after my own heart.

Early one morning, it was just Jake, Leo and I up at the bunker before everyone else woke up. We worked on our individual projects for the _Argo II_ – Jake on the timber keel, me on the bronze hull, and Leo with his deft hands on the gut circuiting. Once in a while, I'd hear Leo talking. At first, I thought he was talking to himself, but after I watched him for a while, I realized that he was talking to the bronze dragon head – Festus, Leo had named him – that hung on the wall. I felt a pang of pity for him. Only Beckendorf had ever been able to tame the huge automaton, but even when he'd controlled it, it had been like a fun toy or a pet to Beckendorf. But to Leo, even though he'd only had him for a few days, that dragon was like a best friend. I had heard vague comments from Jason and Piper about how devastated Leo had been when Festus was destroyed, but he seemed to be more upbeat about the whole thing, now that we were going to reincarnate him, in a manner of speaking, as the masthead of the _Argo II. _

In many ways, Leo confused me. Anyone in the camp who had gotten to know him well could tell you stories about his constant sense of humor and jokes – however corny they could be – and that ear-to-ear grin of his. He had this look about him that screamed 'troublemaker', but while he did play few pranks here and there, I had yet to see him do anything in the workshop that wasn't responsible, ingenious, and brilliant. He was always willing to lend a hand, a joke, a smile, a laugh, to anyone who needed it. He was a great kid.

But then, there was another side of him. You had to sneak up on it just to get a glimpse of it, but it was there. Sometimes, when he was alone, or rather when he _thought _he was alone, Leo would get this strange, haunted look in his eyes, like he'd seen and experienced more than Chiron himself. He didn't smile when he was like that, but he didn't frown, either. He'd set his dark eyebrows in a tense squiggle, and he'd work. And work. And work some more. I suppose he did it to get his mind off things, although it never seemed to release the tension in his shoulders. Sometimes I could see his lips moving and hear him muttering under his breath. Then he'd sigh and run his hands over his face, almost like he was going to cry, then get this empty, far-off look in his eyes. It was if he had personally taken up Atlas' burden and put it on his own shoulders, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why.

I knew by some instinct that part of it had to do with his fire wielding ability. I can tell that he's afraid of it; the way he acts when we ask him to help us out at the forge, the look that crosses his face whenever he uses it in his work. In a way, this comforts me – at least he's not a pyromaniac who's going to arson the entire camp. But in another way, it makes me incredibly sad, because he shouldn't _have _to be afraid of it. I only wish there were more of his kind to teach him what to do, but of course, we all know what happened to the last guy with Leo's power. Most people at camp have at least _heard_ the true story of the Great Fire of London, and some are even more wary of Leo because of it. But I don't think that there is a demigod at camp that is more disturbed by the story than Leo himself. I mean, I can't blame the kid. If _I _found out that _my _closest cousin had gone haywire and destroyed one of the world's largest cities, I would definitely become a bit nervous, too. But the thing is - the story doesn't make Leo nervous. It makes him _terrified. _Sometimes, when he has flames dancing across his hands, he'll look at them like they're an old enemy; like they've somehow burned him before, in spite of his resistance to fire. Something tells me that as young as he is, Leo has already seen what his power can do; how dangerous it is. It makes me wonder if he has ever experienced his own version of the London Fire.

Curious I may have been, but I knew better than to ask him about it. He hid that side of himself for a reason. I wasn't supposed to know his weakness. We all have dark corners of ourselves that we don't want anyone to see, and the only reason I'd seen Leo's was because I was observant and just a touch snoopy. But I wasn't going to pry into his mind any further, because he'd obviously spent his life building an emotional wall to ward off anyone else who got too close to his soft spot. I respected him too much to hurt him by breaking it down.

But all of that changed one night, up at the bunker. I'd been working on making the bronze rim that would connect Festus to the stem of the boat, and it was giving me a hard time. It had to be watertight, so Festus' neck and the collar piece had to fit together like a plasma-cut jigsaw puzzle. After three attempts down in one day, I was working on my fourth. It was past dark, and I stopped to yawn as I filed down the roughly hewn edges of the bronze. I was getting drowsy on the barbeque sandwich I'd had for dinner, but I soldiered on anyway. If only I could get this one section done tonight, I could have it finished and tested so I wouldn't have to waste time tomorrow. _Zrrng zrrrg, zrrng zrrrg… _The file ran across the rough-edged bronze in a steady rhythm, strangely lulling to my sleepy mind. I tried to keep my eyes open and stared down at the bronze hard, trying to muster some focus from my watery eyes. Wow. I'd never realized how much that work desk looked like a bed. I shook myself again, but soon, the bronze started to look like a pillow, and my chair was singing a Siren's song to sit down and rest. It was all so inviting; I just had to give in. The file's lullaby slowed to a stop as my eyes closed.

When I woke up, I had one of those strange _'Where am I?' _moments that come whenever you wake up in a place that is not your bed. To make things worse, my not-so-comfortable bronze pillow had left me with a giant crick in my neck. I groaned and rubbed the huge knot that had formed in my shoulder, and my vertebrae cracked as I rose and stretched. I wasn't sure of how late it was, but something told me that it was well past midnight by now – the bunker was abandoned. I stepped out of the small work room that I'd fallen asleep in and went out onto the main floor. I didn't hear or see anyone at first. Then, I heard a voice, though I couldn't identify the speaker or what they were saying. Oh, so I wasn't the only here. But who would be up at this hour? I moved in closer to get a better listen.

"…Suppose you wouldn't really know. Heck, even I don't know for sure." I heard Leo say, "I'm just going off of what Nyssa told me."

I frowned at that. He was talking about me – but to who? And why? I stayed as silent as I could and listened on.

"When I first got here, she said that fire users are dangerous. _Always dangerous._ I'm not sure what I think of that. I mean, sure, I'm dangerous – I've known that since… Well, a long time." Leo said. I remembered telling him that, and part of me wished I could take the words back. I hadn't known that Leo was a fire user at that time, and now the judgment seemed a bit harsh. I wondered what 'long time' ago event he was referring to was.

Leo sighed. "But then Dad said that this was a gift. A _gift!_ Can you believe that? Some _gift. _Maybe he could have at least left an instruction manual. 'Pyrokinesis: How Not to Kill People' would've been nice. 'Protecting the Ones You Love from Yourself', even. But who am I kidding? I'm the son of the freaking god of fix-its. I mean, I can fix anything - _anything _except what matters." His voice sounded pained, and I frowned in pity as I tried to figure out what he meant. Leo was the best mechanic I'd ever met – what was he beating himself up about?

"I've been trying to fix myself for years, but… Well, we both know how _that _ended up. And then there was you, Festus. You were the coolest thing I'd ever seen, and I couldn't even save you from a few stupid lasers. What kind of son of Hephaestus am I if I can't fix the important things?" He huffed. "And to make matters worse, I'm not doing much better in training, either. I'm pretty sure Clarisse has killed my about fifteen bazillion times over by now."

I almost had to smile at this. That did sound like Clarisse. But Leo was great at fighting – I'd watched him before.

"And they expect me to be some sort of hero. One of the seven of the great prophecy. Have they been paying attention? Have they not seen me on the battlefield? I'm… I'm a nobody. I try to be somebody, but all that ever amounts to is a pile of ashes and a few people who continuously ignore me. Third wheel. Second best. Unimportant. And anyone who actually _does _notice my existence only sees me because of my fire abilities. But they don't even know the half of _that_ – they never could. They don't… gods, Festus, they just don't understand. If they did, they'd never want me on their quests. They'd banish me from this bunker, much less the camp. Heck, if they were smart, they might even find some way to ensure I'd never set anything on fire ever again." Leo grunted, and I heard him smack a frustrated fist against the metal work desk.

"They think I'm cool and all that because of some useful fire tricks and a vague line in a prophecy. But if they knew, Festus, if they _really _knew, they would realize how wrong they are. They'd realize how dangerous I am. And they'd want nothing to do with me." Leo tossed something off the balcony, and I saw a little bronze figurine flutter on small wings to the ground. The automaton made a whirring noise like a whinny and trotted towards where I stood in the shadows. I picked it up and studied the craftsmanship. How could Leo think that _this _made him a nobody? He'd been at camp for what, four weeks? A month? And he could make and automaton with a few wires, washers and bolts? This kid was crazy good at what he did. I think someone should tell him that more often.

"Maybe I was better off running after all." Leo told Festus. I heard a rough squeaking noise, and then footsteps on the catwalk. I shrunk back into the shadows so he wouldn't see me, but at that moment, the miniature Pegasus decided to take off. I stumbled to retrieve it, and as I did, sent a stack of bronze plating clattering to the ground. I cringed and moved my eyes upward, where Leo was frozen on the steps. He'd seen me, I just knew it. Lightning quick, he raced back over to his desk and remained silent.

I swear, I'd never felt so guilty in my life. Here I was, inadvertently eavesdropping on an obviously troubled kid pour out his heart to his out-of-commission dragon who was apparently his best friend, and now he'd seen me lurking there like a spy. I probably scared him half to Hades and embarrassed him more than I cared to think about.

My heart was hammering inside my chest as I tried to make a decision. Did I leave, or did I say something? If I did say something, _what _would I say? If I _didn't, _how would I ever be able to look him in the eye again?

_Always dangerous._ Those had been my words. In those words, I felt at least partial responsibility for Leo's hurt. I didn't know how deep or how long that hurt ran, but I realized then that my conscience couldn't overlook it, now that I knew about it. Besides, I was his sister – his older sister, at that. I was supposed to be helping him, supporting him. I couldn't just _leave _him there. So, cradling the small bronze Pegasus in my hands, I swallowed and broke the silence that filled the bunker.

"Leo?"

It took a minute.

"I'm up here." I couldn't decide if he was angry or terrified. I eventually assumed it was both.

I crossed the room and climbed upstairs to the catwalk, hoping to Hephaestus that I would know what to say.

A/N: And what happened in this chapter? Absolutely nothing! Gosh, this chapter was boring, even for me. I apologize, but I thought it was necessary to give Nyssa's POV before moving along too far. I was surprised to find out that no one has written any stories with Nyssa besides me. She's a cool character to explore. What is it with me and obscure characters? I just love them.

Anyway, hoped you enjoyed, despite the lack of progress.

R&R!


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